


Light Around My Fingers

by superfluouspaperclip



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Friendship, Gen, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4133241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfluouspaperclip/pseuds/superfluouspaperclip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up is not easy, particularly when the people who most understand your problems shouldn't really be there in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Otoya

The full moon hung over the bustling festival like a neon sign. Not that Otoya Ittoki could see it. All he could see from the soft light shining around his clenched fingers were the small shadows his hands cast over the tabletop. Outside the booth’s plastic walls the thunder of footsteps and chatter was just audible as both visitors and locals rushed from street to street and booth to booth. A warm summer breeze ruffled the curtain draped over the front of the stand, carrying with it the smell of cooking batter and flower blossoms. Man, Otoya had gotten the lousy end of the deal.

A sign dropped through the curtain, its childish characters inviting readers to “come see marvels” in scrawled highlighter. Uneven stars, made out in fluorescent gel pens, glinted on the black card; only visible in the shifting light that filtered through the bottom of the curtain.

“The booth has to be dark,” Daichi had argued. “It’s atmos- atmo- it would be stupid with light.”

Of course, Daichi didn’t have to sit in the stupid booth, did he? Nah, he and Kumiko got to stand out on the street and eat ice cream while Otoya sweated it out under three layers of velvet cloaks and these stupid gloves. _Meanies_ , he thought, and shook the big, white, Mickey Mouse gloves onto the table in a fit of rebellion.

The sharp tapping of soles on concrete marked potential visitors, and Kumiko hurriedly reached through the curtain for the dropped sign. Her hand grasped wildly in the air for a couple of seconds before Otoya jumped to his feet and pushed it into her hands. The idea of visitors at last set his stomach tingling. He should probably sit down again for when they came in. On the other hand, he’d been sitting down all night. His legs were going to fall into a coma and die at this rate. Peeking through the curtain, Otoya could make out the brown shade of Daichi’s hair leaping in front of two teen girls, both clad in vibrant yukatas.

“Come in!” the seven-year-old cried. “Come in to learn the mysteries of the future! Tarots! Palm reading! Soulmate stuff!”

The girl on the right laughed through smudged rouge lips and adjusted the arm shrugged around her smaller companion, the olive-green band lightly glowing around her middle-left finger on clear display. “Are you doing fortunes, kid?” she asked.

“Yes miss,” Daichi nodded enthusiastically. “Welcome to the Fujimoto Home’s Tent of Mystery!”

“It’s Tent of the Whimsical and Outlandish, Daichi!” Kumiko hissed. “Tent of Mystery is too boring.”

“Yeah but yours is too complicated.”

The girl on the right was laughing even harder, high pitched giggles that reminded Otoya of the sound Granny Tsukuya’s dog made whenever Tarou and he crossed by her house to get to the park. The girl on the left shifted her balance from one foot to the other. She removed her right hand from where it had been clenched beneath her elbow to rub at her eyes, smudging her eyeliner further. The maroon band on her pinky flickered.

“You two are so cute!” the first girl slurred. “Aren’t they just so cute, Sayuri?”

“Yeah, cute,” the second girl, Sayuri, said. “Come on, Misaki, it’s getting late.”

Daichi jutted out his jaw, “I’m not cute.”

“And it’s not that late,” Kumiko added. She was as desperate as Otoya to finally have customers.

“Right, right, not cute,” Sayuri said, “But Misaki, I thought you wanted to get those lollies. The stand will be closing in ten minutes.”

“Ah the stand can wait,” Misaki tightened her grip around Sayuri’s shoulder. “You guys say you can give soulmate advice?”

Daichi nodded.

Soulmates were a common topic in gossip magazines and mid-morning talk shows. It was difficult to ignore the strange bands that formed around children’s fingers in commemoration of the birth of a person they had never met, but with whom they were destined to spend their life. The soulbands, which looked like a ring tattooed around the bottom knuckle of a person’s finger, were always brightly coloured and gave off a faint light, which intensified with physical proximity to one’s soulmate.

While many soulmates were in intimate relationships, the bond wasn’t necessarily sexual, or even romantic. Plenty of kids would meet their soulmates in kindergarden, grow up together, be best man or woman at each other’s weddings, and see each other between taking children to school and romantic dinners with their spouses. In some cases, soulmates were even cousins or siblings. A soulmate meant exactly that, the match to your soul. The one person, as the adults explained to Otoya, who would always care for you, and whom you would always care for. The one person with whom you could completely be yourself. Which was kinda a problem.

The mystics that appeared on late afternoon TV often claimed that through their mystical powers they could see deeper into the connection than just the soulband. They would spend the fifteen minutes of talk show screen time they were allotted providing information to middle-aged men and woman who had yet to find their partner. For an exuberant price, of course.

Daichi reckoned they were making it up.

“All you have to do,” he had said one day after a particularly bad television schedule, “is wave the guy’s hand about and see if the light became brighter in a certain direction.”

It was his idea for the orphanage to do a mystic booth for the festival, and when it looked like no one wanted to be the fortune teller, Otoya had volunteered. The clothes might be hot, and the booth dark, but the smile on Daichi’s face when he had realised that it would be his idea appearing at the festival – and not one of the preteens’ like usual – was worth it.

And now Otoya might actually get to do something, if only those two would come inside.

Misaki’s teeth were bared in laughter. “Well check out Sayuri here,” she continued. “Her band only appeared today!”

“Misaki!”

Otoya blinked behind his curtain. Only appeared today?

Daichi gazed up at the teen who was trying to curl out of her friend’s grip. “Wow,” he said.

Kumiko elbowed her fellow orphan in the rib. “What Daichi meant to say,” she amended while the younger boy clutched his side, “is congratulations.”

“Ah, thanks,” Sayuri muttered as she tugged on Misaki’s dangling sleeves, but her friend was still lost to giggles.

“There’s seventeen years between her and her soulmate,” Misaki stuttered between sinkers. “Seventeen! There’s gotta be a law against that or something!”

“Miskai,” Sayuri said, “if you’re going to be mean then I’m going to leave.”

The hiccups that passed as Misaki’s laughs quickly halted. “Oh don’t be like that. I’m just joking.” She rolled her eyes, “Come on, let the kids come up with your future or whatever. It’s not like they’re going to actually know anything about a freak like you. Worst you’re gonna get is kid germs.”

Sayuri sunk into her wooden sandals. “Fine.”

“Right…” Daichi stared at the two teens for a few seconds, before seemingly remembering himself. He shrugged his black hood over his head and announced in the lowest, most-gutteral tone his seven-year-old vocal chords could manage, “Come with me into the whim- whimsiest and oute- outlander.”

Ah, was that Otoya’s cue? _Close enough_ , he supposed. The eight-year-old stretched up for the hairclip that held the curtain together. Mistress Fujimoto had done it up at Daichi’s request before leaving to make sure that none of the orphans drowned themselves while scooping goldfish. Otoya’s fingers missed.

 _Maybe if I just_. He jumped, trying not to alert the customer’s waiting outside. Nope, the clip was still too far. What was it they always did in action movies? Gritting his teeth, he walked backwards into the booth’s darkness. When he had gone as far back as he could (only about a meter before he banged into the desk), he sprinted forward and jumped. Success, Otoya had the clip. Unfortunately, he also had the rest of the curtain.

The front of the stand crashed into the street, narrowly missing the two teenagers and two kids already there. Momentum also crashed Otoya into the street, his right hand still clenched around the hairclip while his left flailed desperately to shield his fall. He landed directly on the latter with a loud cracking sound.

“Hey kid, are you alright?” Misaki said, rushing over.

Otoya’s left hand wouldn’t move and, as he reached around to pull it up with his right, his fingers bumped his forearm which was already swelling. “Ow,” he gasped.

But it wasn’t his arm that seemed to have grasped Misaki’s attention. “I take it back,” that large toothed smile already spreading across her face. “It looks like you’re not the only freak, Sayuri.”

See, that was the problem. The one person, adults always said. The _one_ person. Sure, now and then someone would pop up in the newspapers with two soulmates, and there was an ancient Chinese myth which mentioned a group of four, but a soulmate bond was intimate. A soulmate bond was special. One bond of such magnitude was fantastic. One bond was the topic of countless stories and songs. One bond was _normal_. Otoya had seven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've got a few more ideas with the whole soulmate thing. I'm definitely going to write up some of them, however the exact number I write will probably depend on how much interest there is in this fic. So please leave kudos or comment and let me know if you want to see more.


	2. Natsuki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is an AU fanfic about a fictional j-pop group from a visual novel aimed at teenage girls. The challenges and issues that the main characters face concerning their soulbonds are not supposed to be any commentary on, or allegory for, real life discrimination.

Brrring!

The bell cut through halls of the Hokkaido primary school, a cry of liberty for the students and a cry of warning for the neighbouring houses that were about to be swarmed by several hundred children aged six to ten.

Inside the grade three classroom, the kids stuffed their books in satchels and backpacks. They bumped into each other, chatting loudly as they rushed to meet up with their friends, the two hours between now and lunch much too long for them to be parted.

Akemi, the short girl with feathery black hair who occupied the desk in front of Natsuki, was gossiping with her best friend of a week and a half.

“Hey,” the friend was saying, “did you know that Kumiko found her soulmate yesterday?”

“No fair,” Akemi pouted. “My younger brother found his last week too. Do you know some people go their entire lives without meeting their soulmate?” her voice rose in exaggerated fear and her friend gasped with appropriate horror.

“Don’t worry, Akemi,” Natsuki spoke up, listening in from his desk. “I’m sure you’ll find yours. You’re too cute not to~”

The two girls stared at him from the corner of their eyes, prompting Natsuki to glance up from shoving papers in his backpack. Did he have something on his face?

“Did you just call her cute?” Akemi’s friend gasped. “Wow, Akemi, looks like you’ve got a boyfriend!”

Akemi crossed her hands, “No I don’t. And of course I’m going to find my soulmate, Shinomiya-kun!” she sneered. “I wasn’t worried, like you should be. Do you even have one?”

“Of course I do,” Natsuki said. “See,” he thrust out his hands, palms up, “seven.”

Akemi glanced down at the rainbow of multi-coloured bands that glinted around Natsuki’s knuckles and rolled her eyes, “Yeah, but whoever heard of someone with seven soulmates? I bet you actually don’t have any. I bet you’re just a mistake.”

“Yeah,” her friend cried loudly, alerting the still-crowded room to their conversation. “No-mates Natsuki! The silly, little mistake!”

The classroom erupted with youthful laughter, ignoring the glare from Mr Yukimura, the classroom teacher, who was sorting through teaching supplies at his desk in the corner. Natsuki snatched his hands back, pressing his fists against his chest to hide his fingers. His cheeks heated under his ducked eyes.

“All right, all right,” Mr Yukimura stood up, “settle down. You’re parents are waiting for you, so get a move on.” The students hurried to leave, and Akemi and her friend turned back to themselves, losing interest in ridiculing their gentle classmate for now as they swung their satchels onto their backs and made their way towards the door.

Natsuki followed three paces behind them, head down, clenching his violin case in his right hand and his left stuffed deep in his trouser pocket. He almost thought he had succeeded in convincing everyone that he was thinking deeply about his upcoming violin lesson, when an adult hand landed on his shoulder.

“Not you, Shinomiya-kun,” Mr Yukimura said. “Could you stay behind please?”

“Ooh,” cried pug-nosed Gorou, who usually sat in the desk to the back right of Natsuki and was just behind Natsuki on the way out of the classroom, “Shinomiya’s in trouble!”

Akemi looked around in the doorframe and met Natsuki’s green eyes with a sneer, “Hey, Shinomiya-kun, maybe they’re going to take you to a mental institution. The case of the boy with the fake soulbonds.”

Mr Yukimura closed the door on their childish peals of laughter and walked to his desk. Natsuki tugged at his blond locks, but quietly followed his teacher to the corner of the now empty classroom.

“Here,” Mr Yukimura held out an A4 piece of paper neatly folded into an envelope. “This is the official letter from Principle Tsukuda saying that you can take a week off school next month. I hope you enjoy yourself in Tokyo.”

 _Oh, that was all_. “Thank you,” Natsuki said, “I will.”

Natsuki took the paper from his teacher. The message was concise and official, signed by the principal and allowing absence for one week and one week only. He slotted it in his satchel with the rest of his music sheets and text books. Shouldering the bag, and picking up his violin from where it was leaning against the desk’s leg, Natsuki turned to leave.

“Shinomiya, wait.”

Natsuki stopped again.

Mr Yukimura sighed, “You need to do something about this soulmate problem.”

Natsuki smiled, but it didn’t reach his large eyes, “I’m okay.”

Mr Yukimura looked up at the blackboard and rubbed the back of his neck, before he shook his head and addressed his student, “Have you ever considered wearing a pair of gloves?”

Most people, as they became older, made the decision to cover their soulband for some reason or other. A few because they became embarrassed or self-conscious of their soulband, particularly if they hadn’t yet found their mate. Others felt that such an important emotional relationship ought to be a private matter. Furthermore, there were problems caused by the constant brightness emitted from a soulband. For light sensitive people, it could make actions involving their hands difficult, and pretty much every adult complained when trying to get to sleep at night.

As such gloves, rings and other finger coverings were worn as often as belts. Most were practical. Depending on the season, gloves made of thick cotton, polyester or wool would effectively block any light from wondering eyes. Large cylindrical bands with clasps that could be secured around one’s lower knuckles were a favourite of those who desired bare palms.

Still, Natsuki had never been in a class where another student had bothered to cover their soulbands, and he expressed this to his teacher, “Aren’t they just for grown-ups?”

“No,” Mr Yukimura replied, “anyone can wear them. At my last school half the class wore something over their fingers, and it would stop you from standing out so much.”

“But they’re just kids, they’ll grow out of it,” Natsuki wasn’t really sure who he was defending, but the protest came out easily.

Mr Yukimura raised an eyebrow, “I wouldn’t count on that, Shinomiya. Your situation is pretty strange. I know many adults who would be uncomfortable as well.”

And it hurt that he was right. There had been that incident last summer, when he had been lined up at a convenience store, hand grasped around a Piyo-chan brand ice-cream and pocket full of jingling allowance. A woman in line in front of him had turned to him and snapped that his finger ‘tattoos’ were a disgrace to him, his family and his soulmate. Her rant had become increasingly angry, scaring the nine-year-old. She had been stopped by the young shop assistant, who had scanned her purchases, and pushed her out as quickly as politeness would allow. The assistant had apologised to Natsuki and complemented him on his ‘tattoos’. When Natsuki told him they were real, he had apologised again and dropped the subject.

Natsumi’s silence was confirmation enough for Mr Yukimura.

“Look, Shinomiya-kun,” he said kindly, “it’s just an idea. How ‘bout you ask your parents about it tonight, okay?”

Natsuki nodded, “Okay.” He bowed, “Good afternoon, Mr Yukimura.”

“Good afternoon, Shinomiya-kun.”

The boy adjusted his grip on his backpack and violin case, and finally headed out the door. There was no one left in the corridors as Natsuki made his way outside, and Natsuki couldn’t help but wonder if that had been Mr Yukimura’s plan.

 

* * *

 

“Miss Ueda! I’m here!”

Natsuki pounded on the door to the ground floor unit, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

A sweet laugh, gentle as a sleepy songbird’s call, echoed from inside, mixing with the wind-chimes that swung through the open window.

The lock turned and a wispy-haired middle-aged woman leaned out the door. “So you are, Natsuki,” she chuckled, “so you are!”

She swung the door open wider and stood back to let Natsuki through, “Come in and set up.”

Natsuki was all too happy to follow her words.

Shiori Ueda led her student further into her house. “So, how was school today?”

“Ah, it was good,” Natsuki bounded forwards, swinging his violin case and almost knocking a hole in the wall. “We learnt about the water cycle. That was interesting. Mr Yukimura has this diagram where the clouds have little faces, except it showed rain as the clouds crying which was sad, but then when the water was eva-something-”

“Evaporating?”

Natsuki threw his case down on the couch in Miss Ueda’s living room and began to unpack his music books. “Yeah, when the water was evaporating all the clouds were happy, which was cute! Oh,” he ruffled through his folder again, before fishing out the page he was looking for and holding it out, “Mr Yukimura gave me this, so now I can go to the competition!”

“Hmm,” Shiori plucked it from his hands and examined the letter. She raised an eyebrow and grinned at the nine-year-old, “Looks like we better start practicing.”

“Okay,” Natsuki beamed, and untwisted his bow from its case.

Several seconds passed in silence as Natsuki prepared and Shiori sorted through the music books, until the teacher spoke, “Natsuki, which route did you take from school?”

"Huh?” Natsuki looked up from fitting his shoulder rest.

“To get here,” she clarified.

Natsuki lifted his violin up onto his shoulder and stepped towards the stand wonkily perched in the carpet. “Th-the normal way,” he said quickly. “Are we starting with scales?”

“ _Natsuki_ ,” the boy jumped at his teacher’s disapproving tone, “It’s not cute to lie. I saw you coming down the hill.”

He pouted and let the violin slip off his shoulder, “Fine, I went the long way over the hill.”

Shiori sighed, “So they’re still bullying you.”

“They say I don’t have any soulmates...” The frown on his teacher’s face made Natsuki’s heart hurt. He switched his bow to his other hand and smiled up at his teacher. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”

Shiori laughed, and the sound reminded Natsuki of the church bells that rang through the town every hour when his family lived in France, “Oh, I’ve got no doubt you can, but you shouldn’t have to. What’s Mr Yukimura doing?”

The boy shrugged, “He thinks I should wear gloves.”

“Gloves? And what would that do? They're bullies, which means they bully. Take away one reason for torment, and they'll just jump on another!" She paused and then said with a small smirk, "Besides you can't wear gloves while you’re playing. You won’t be able to create any sound!”

“No sound at all?” Natsuki asked, scandalised.

“Well not the right one anyway, and with your talent that would be such a shame,” she said as she booped him on the nose. Natsuki giggled.

“Now,” Shiori clapped her hands together theatrically, “let’s hear a B minor scale. Slurred, please."

The minute hand on the clock ticked away unobserved, and, truly, it wasn’t needed. Time became measured in the inexact lengths of scores and the slow tiring of Natsuki’s arms as he leapt to meet his teacher’s high expectations. Before he knew it, Miss Ueda was instructing him to pack up.

“Make sure to practice the minuet before next week. It’ll need to be up to scratch for the competition,” she made a note in Natsuki’s music book, before slotting it back into his satchel with the rest of the heavy tomes and loose sheets.

“But still,” she closed the bag and handed it out to her student, “you did a good job today. Well done!”

“Thank you,” Natsuki reached out to take his things from Shiori’s long fingers, before it occurred to him. “Miss Ueda, if it’s not too rude to ask, why don’t you wear anything over your soulband?”

Shiori stared down at the dull strip that branded the lower knuckle of her right index finger, and sighed. “Do you know it means if a soulband doesn’t shine, Natsuki?” She asked.

The young boy shook his blond head.

“Well,” she paused and drew in another deep breath, “a soulband appears when a soulmate is born, and from that moment on it gives out light. However, when the soulmate that band represents di-dies, the band doesn’t disappear. Oh no, it just stops shining.” She flicked her hand up, accenting the ruddy mark on her hand, “At one point this shone red.”

Now it was just a scar, faded over time until there was nothing left but a reminder of what could have been.

“Did you ever meet them?” Natsuki asked in sympathetic awe.

Shiori nodded, “Once. It’s a long story,” she tried to smile but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I don’t care,” Natsuki insisted.

She shook her head and sat down on the couch beside Natsuki’s violin case, “You _are_ a stubborn one. Very well. About, oh, fifteen years ago? Yes, that’s right. Fifteen years ago an orchestra in Sapporo chose one of my pieces to perform. It wasn’t a professional orchestra, mind you, but it was still such a great honour. I travelled there to see it, of course, and when the concert was over he came up to me and introduced himself as Satsuki Suzuki. Gosh, it’s amazing I can still remember the name after all this time!"

Anyway, he was in a wheelchair and it wasn’t difficult to see why. His skin was sallow, he was completely bald from chemotherapy, yet he’d come out of hospital to see this little performance. He used to play cello in this orchestra, you see. So he rolled up and told me that his biggest regret was that he didn’t manage to stay in the orchestra long enough to perform my piece. Said I was a musical genius,” She laughed harshly.

“But you are, Miss Ueda,” Natsuki insisted. “I’ll prove to them you’re the best music teacher ever.”

Shiori smiled, “Well that’s very nice of you, Natsuki, but I’m sure there’s a fair bit of competition for that.” She stood and stretched, glancing at the clock. “I think that’s enough for now. It’s late. You should get going, Natsuki, before your parents start to think I’ve done something to you.”

“But now you know,” Shirori said as she herded her student down the hall towards the door, “that so long as your bands shine, you’re soulmates are alive. Those who say otherwise don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Natsuki stopped before the front door and spoke, mostly to himself, “I know. I can hear them sometimes. When I’m tired or concentrating really hard on practice, I think I can hear their voices in my head singing to me, telling me to not give up. It makes me feel lots better!” he turned around and beamed at his teacher.

Shiori returned his smile tiredly, “Well if it makes you feel happy, I suppose that’s a good thing.”

“It does,” Natsuki said, and swung out the door.

Shiori leant on the frame and watched her student walk out onto the street, streaked yellow by the setting sun. The boy had walked three feet down the footpath, before he spun around and rushed back to Shiori.

“Miss Ueda,” he panted, “I just realised you didn’t respond to my question. Why don’t you cover your soulband?”

Shiori couldn’t bring herself to meet the innocent green of Natsuki’s eyes, but she did answer, “I was wearing a ring over it at the time. I didn’t realise we were soulmates until one of the stage managers mentioned that the hand he was holding behind his wheelchair was beaming bright pink the whole time we were talking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comment and kudos! I've got a good idea for where this fic is going now.


	3. Masato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The setting, and about three lines of dialogue, come from the anime: Season 1, Episode 4.

Sweat trickled down the back of Masato’s neck. He pushed against the wooden walls, hoping the glazed gold panelling would cool him down before he ruined his shirt, but even the walls were hot with the summer air gusting through the open windows and the combined heat of a hundred grown men and women. The high celling, from which hung large unfurling chandeliers, did little to alleviate the claustrophobic heat. At the beginning of the evening, the hosts, a Mr and Mrs Ito, had announced their new dedication to environmentalism, and, as such, were no longer using air conditioning to cool their manor. They had received a polite round of applause from those who were not subtly fanning themselves with their party invitations.

Hours had passed, and the awkward evening had only become more unbearable. Masato’s father had disappeared early on, walking off into the sea of party guests who were caught in endless tides of eating, chatting, dancing, discussing business, and just plain milling about. Masato’s mother had stuck with him for some time. Or rather, he had stuck with her, practically clinging to her skirts as he was introduced to forgettable name after forgettable name. His gloves, thick as they had to be to cover the light shining from his soulbands, had become ruffled from all the handshaking.

When his mother had gently excused herself with a trip to the ladies’ room, Masato had taken the opportunity to remove himself as far as possible from the conversation. Clinging to the ballroom wall, away from the shadow of the large stage prepared for an endless round of speeches, he had found something resembling calm.

The Hijirikawa heir had long given up on being noticed by any of the tireless party guests, so it was surprising when an unfamiliar white-suited kid stepped out of the crowd and started walking towards him. The kid, and how had Masato not realised there someone else his own age here, flicked his blond hair over his shoulder with long fingers covered in silver rings and leaned against the wall beside Masato. Several seconds passed.

“I’m bored,” the kid declared. “Aren’t you bored?”

Masato just blinked. Maybe he had met the blond before; his voice sounded really familiar.

The lack of response didn’t seem to deter the kid. “Do you want to sneak out?” he asked.

That- that sounded pretty good actually. “Yeah,” Masato smiled shyly.

The other boy grinned, “Well come on then. There’s a lake on the other side of the manor.”

“Won’t we be caught?” Masato asked.

“By this lot?” blondie laughed. “They’re all too busy trying to impress each other.”

And maybe the heat was starting to affect Masato’s brain, because just hearing that laugh, though it was more sarcastic than humorous, filled a deep part of him with joy.

The kid must have mistaken his silence for reluctance. “It’s fine,” he said, turning around further so he could better see Masato’s expression. “I’ve done this before.”

Masato found himself nodding. “Okay,” he said.

The boy’s blue eyes twinkled in the chandeliers’ yellow light, “Follow me.”

The two children slipped through the crowd with the ease that comes from being less than two thirds the height of everyone else. Yet in their controlled escape from the ballroom, neither noticed the blue-eyed teen who saw them; or heard the frustrated, “Ren,” he hissed as he checked his wristwatch.

 

* * *

 

 

Whomever the Ito family had bought the manor from obviously believed a huge castle-like house with acres of forest land and a direct road to the nearest city was not enough, and had decided to carve a reasonable sized lake into the hillside as well. In a country of little land and many people it was an excessive display of wealth, but the shallow waters of the manmade pool looked heavenly adorned with the reflection of the clear summer stars above.

The blond boy was shrugging off his white blazer, his polished tan dress shoes already lying neatly in the grass. He lay the blazer on a nearby rock, deftly rolled up his suit pants, and dipped a foot into the lake.

“Ah, it’s cold!” he exclaimed.

Masato watched as he waded into the water, sending little waves across the lakes surface. The kid turned around, a large smile lighting up his face. The smile only seemed to grow more when he saw that Masato hadn’t moved.

“Aren’t you coming in?” he said teasingly.

Masato gazed down at his feet. He really did want to join him but, “I don’t think my father would be very happy if I got my clothes wet.”

The boy rolled his eyes, “You’re wearing shorts! Just take your off your shoes and socks and no one will notice.”

“But…” A wave of water hit Masato, soaking into the black cotton of his shorts and plastering his fringe to his forehead. The Hijirikawa heir, mouth open, looked up at the kid attacker crouching in the shallows, metal rings glinting on the fingers he held cupped under the water level.

“There.” The other boy announced. “Now if anyone asks you can say it was all Ren Jinguji’s fault.”

Masato gazed back down at his shorts, slowly becoming heavier as the water sunk into the weave. Several seconds passed in an impatient silence, before Masato shrugged and smiled slightly at Ren.

“Then if anyone gets angry at you, you can blame it on Masato Hijirikawa,” he said.

Ren beamed, “Okay.”

Masato striped off his shoes and socks and precisely placed them on the grass. His jacket was next, folded on top of his shoes to prevent any dirt from staining the smooth material. He walked over the rough grass to the bank and, steeling himself, stepped out into the water.

His toes squirmed, dragging up mud from the bottom. “It is cold,” he muttered.

A wave of lake water hit his chest. Masato looked up to see Ren stooped three feet away and laughing so hard he risked face-planting into the water.

“And now it’s even colder,” he hiccupped between giggles.

Masato loosened his tie with left hand and reached down with the other, soaking his glove as he scooped at the lake’s surface with the full length of his right arm. The crest of water hit Ren straight in his mouth. Ren spluttered and Masato grinned. If it was a battle Ren Jinguji wanted, it was a battle he would get.

 

* * *

 

 

“You know, people used to navigate from those, but it all looks like a mess to me.”

Masato glanced down from his position on top of a rock at Ren, whose damp hair fanned out in the grass as he gazed at the sky and waited for his cloths to dry. Leaning backwards, the dark haired boy looked up at the stars that had captured his friend’s attention.

“Well that one,” he said, pointing to a trail of shining lights in the bottom of the sky, “is Sagittarius, the centaur. It sort of looks like a man with a horse’s body. And he’s pointing his bow at Scorpius, the scorpion constellation.”

“Wow,” Masato looked down to meet Ren’s gentle surprise, “how do you know that?”

“My father says I need to have a broad understanding of the world.”

Ren groaned and sat up on the lawn, inspecting his fingernails. “You’re father seems to say a lot of things.”

 _What does that mean!_ Masato opened his mouth, but stopped when he saw that Ren’s attention had turned from his nails to his knuckles, a look of abject fear stamped on his face.

“I lost them. They must have fallen off.”

Now Masato understood why Ren was worried. Of the ten rings that had decorated his fingers, only seven still covered his lower knuckles. His right pinky and his left ring finger were bare, as was his left forefinger from which a soulband emitted a soft purple light.

“Are they special?” Masato couldn’t take his eyes off Ren’s soulband. It looked an awful lot like one of his.

“They’re silver,” Ren replied, “but that’s not what’s important. Stupid,” he whacked his own forehead. “I can’t go back without them.”

“Can’t you just move one over?” If Ren really just wanted to cover his soulband that should be easy, right?

Ren shook his head. “I’m going to look for them,” he said, lurching to his feet. Masato watched Ren wade back out into the lake, crouching down to shift at the lake floor before standing back up again dejectedly. The Hijirikawa heir sighed and dropped down off his rock. “I’ll help,” Masato offered. Ren nodded, “Thanks.” Ren glanced down at his hands, still covered in rapidly drying mud, he frowned, “You should remove your gloves. It’s pretty muddy on the bottom,” he paused, seemingly realising how reluctant many people were to show their bare fingers in public. “Ah, I mean not if you don’t want to of course. I just thought that your father…”

The thought crossed Masato’s mind to refuse. With his _soulbands_... Well, the last thing he needed was his new friend to insult him, or worse ignore him. But Ren seemed like a collected person and his rushed terror over the loss of his rings hit Masato in the tightly locked places where memories of his father’s harsh words about his son’s ‘unusual markings’ were stored. He had come to really like the young Jinguji, and the last thing he wanted was for Ren to have to deal with whatever problem he was expecting If he came back without the silver rings.

Masato stripped off his gloves and set them on top of his coat. He avoided looking at his hands as he quickly waded into the lake and joined Ren, who had returned to his trawling. Masato need not have worried about Ren seeing his bands as the water and the disturbed mud successfully blocked any view.

Five minutes passed and all thoughts of soulbands had faded. All Masato was aware of was the splash of the water against his thighs and his slowly wrinkling toes.

“Any luck,” Ren asked.

“No,” Masato replied.

They went back to their searching.

It could have been three minutes later or thirty when Masato’s fingers finally touched cool metal. “Ren!” he called, grabbing the object and scooping it out to examine it, splattering mud and pebbles back into the lake. Ren spun around and splashed towards his friend.

Suddenly he stopped about a foot away from Masato, and stared down at the fingers holding the ring. The colourful light from the four bands on Masato’s right hand had joined the stars and the moon in the lake’s surface. Masato felt his shoulder tense.

“It’s shining,” Ren said.

“They always shine,” Masato replied awkwardly.

“No, your thumb is really shining. Look.”

Masato’s thumb was mostly hidden by grime that had been dragged up with the ring, but the orange light shining from the soulband on his thumb did cast a greater reflection in the water below. Ren grabbed Masato’s wrist with his left hand, using his own thumb to wipe the grime from Masato’s digits. Masato waited to see what the other boy would do, but after a few seconds of staring at Masato’s hand as if it held all the answers to life, Ren tightened his grasp and started pulling Masato towards the shore.

Ren dropped to his knees in the grass, dragging his blue-haired captive down along with him, and Masato wondered how the blond was going to explain the grass stains on his white shorts to his family. Ren, however, had manoeuvred Masato’s hands so they were spread in the ground in front of him. Grass blades tickled Masato’s palm as Ren plonked the recovered ring down beside his foot and quickly began working at the seven remaining clamped around his lower knuckles.

“R-Ren?”

The boy in question laid his now bare hands opposite Masato’s, middle finger nail tapping middle finger nail. Ren’s soulbands were on clear display. Yes, bands, though Masato never really believed he’d be able to say that about another person. The one wrapped around the pinky of his left hand was a light blue, shinning the faintest. Two fingers across, a yellow band shone out beside the purple that Masato had noticed earlier. Ren’s left thumb was marked by a pink ring. Ren had three bands on his right-hand fingers: a red one on his index, a dark blue on his middle, and a bright green on his ring.

In short, Ren’s soulbands were exactly the same as Masato’s, excluding Ren’s thumb and Masato’s right middle finger, which were both noticeably unmarked. The dark blue from Ren’s middle band blazed intensely. Despite the night’s shadows, it was dazzling like a sapphire ring caught in the sun. The blue and orange light from the two boys’ marks merged together across the lake shore, sending shadows up the hills.

“We-we’re…” Masato was in shock.

“Soulmates?” Ren answered. “Yeah, I think we are.”

The two boys stared at each other, until relief and joy won over the other conflicting emotions in Masato’s stomach and spilled over his face. “I never thought that I actually had any,” he stuttered, “yet I can’t say I’m really surprised.”

“Looks like we’re stuck together,” Ren laughed.

Masato couldn’t help but join in with his friend- no, his soulmate. “Yes, looks like.”

The two would have happily spent hours chatting on that lawn beside the lake, but they were interrupted by the soft crunch of footsteps making their way down the hill.

“Ren! Hijirikawa-kun!” the footsteps belonged to an older teen who bared an uncanny resemblance to Ren, though with darker hair and glasses. “It’s getting late,” he admonished. “Put your shoes on, we need to-”

The teen’s voice cut off as his eye’s trailed over the two kids’ hands. “Oh,” he muttered. “Well, this is unexpected.”

Ren started to get to his feet, “Brother, I-”

The older Jinguji shook his brown-haired head, “It’s fine, Ren. It’s not every day that someone meets their soulmate for the first time. Though in your case it might be more common than most.” He glanced at his watch, “Unfortunately, it’s rather late. Father and mother haven’t noticed anything yet, but they will when they’re ready to leave and you’re nowhere to be found. You should get going too, Hijirikawa-kun. Mr Hijirikawa’s been on the warpath tonight.”

Masato paled, but stood up nonetheless.

“Right,” Ren replied as the two of them went to gather their various possessions and clothing items, “we’re coming.”

Ren’s brother frowned as he saw the rings clutched in Ren’s hand, “Ren, where are the rest of your rings?”

Ren glanced guiltily towards the lake, “Um…” The older Jinguji sighed and swung his leather bag of his shoulder. He fumbled through it for drawing out a pair of white gloves which he tossed at his brother. Ren snatched them with one hand and pushed the silver rings into his pockets with the other.

“Come on, shoes on. Then it’s up to the manor before we cause a corporate disaster.”

As they trudged up the hills, Masato was distracted. He hadn’t meant to leave for long, the evening had just slipped away from him. He had little doubt that his parents had noticed his absence, and they would not be pleased. He sighed, looking back over at the still waters of the lake below and caught Ren’s eye. The two boys shared a smile. Well, at least now he wasn't alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things are becoming really busy in my life right now, and it'll probably remain busy for a while. I want to keep up a weekly update schedule, but I can't promise anything. This is just a warning for now, though.
> 
> Also, if none of you understand the position of the soulbands, let me know in a comment and I'll see if I can make a picture or something.


	4. Kaoru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much to those who left comments and kudos for the last chapter. Sorry for the wait but here's the next chapter. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> EDIT: It tells you how long it's been that I messed up the formatting. Please let me know if it's still wrong.

“Dammit, we’re going to be late!”

The dirty carpet, which at one point must have been a brilliant red but was now more rust than rouge, was coarse underfoot. It caught on the souls of their shoes and slowed the brothers’ rushing footsteps just enough to bother Syo. His hand, tightening its grip around the leather handle of his violin case, divulged his growing anxiety.

“Calm down,” Kaoru said, not trying to hide the exasperation in his voice. “You’re not scheduled for another twenty minutes.”

“But I need to tune and warm up!”

“You’ll have time.”

“Argh,” Syo groaned. This was the third corridor Kaoru and he had turned into. The halls in this performance centre were like a maze.

The centre was an odd building. Not quite new enough to be innovative, nor old enough to be distinguished, its biggest architectural feature was the greying concrete exterior that – at barely three stories – squatted amongst the Tokyo high-rise. When Kaoru and Syo had walked into the open lobby, the double glass doors of the entrance rattling in the wind as they closed behind them, the brothers had been impressed by the high ceiling and polished floorboards that ran through into the painted wooden doors opposite, shut against entry from the foyer to the auditorium.

Once a year, the Nakahara-Smith Foundation for Japanese-American Cultural Exchange hosted a performance of promising young musicians in Tokyo. The styles and instruments varied as much as the virtuosi themselves, who travelled from all over the two countries to attend. The appeal came from the audience. While standard tickets were sold publically, every year the Foundation invited special guests, usually famous or influential names in the world of music. Last year the concert was attended by the heads of the Tokyo College of Music, the ex-conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra and a Julliard graduate who had been taking the world by storm.

As such, entrance into the Annual Musical Prodigy Performance was competitive. Actually that was an understatement. With so many American and Japanese kids – or, more commonly, their parents – desperate to prove they were little instrumental stars, one was more likely to find an empty train on the Tokaido Shinkansen fast-rail than be accepted to perform.

Their mother had been rather unhappy when Syo expressed his desire to audition. The latest tests had shown that Syo’s heart condition remained stable from the previous results, but that there was still potential for it to degenerate further. The doctors had particularly warned against unnecessary stress. Nonetheless, Mrs Kurusu was an international orchestra conductor and she knew the Nakahara-Smith Foundation’s reputation. It had only taken three weeks of begging, bartering and harassing for Syo to finally wheedle acceptance out of her. Kaoru hadn’t bothered intervening, using the time instead to book train tickets to Tokyo.

A sign outside the auditorium doors made it clear that those auditioning would not be welcome in the audition rooms before their designated time. Instead, it displayed a poorly photocopied map of the studios and changing rooms, with a paper arrow pointing towards the entrance to this backstage area, a heavy stage door ajar in the corner of the lobby. It was through that portal that Syo and Kaoru had ventured, and promptly got themselves lost.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Syo grumbled.

“You instructions said studio B7, right? I looked at the map when we came in. Studio B should be at the end of this corridor and to the right.”

The boys reached the end of the corridor where a ramp, proving Kaoru correct, lead up to a large, low-ceilinged space. Circular and brightly lit, the room was crammed with music cases and sheets. The strains of scales slid out under the many studio doors that stood at even intervals along the walls, combing with the susurrus of stressed kids, stern teachers and listless parents. The doors were clearly labelled: B3, B4, B5, B6, B7, B8.

Kaoru took the plastic folder out from under his arm, adjusting to prevent any of the music papers from slipping out of their plastic sheaths, and handed it to his brother. “Go on,” the younger said. “Unpack and warm up.”

Syo took the folder, “Thanks, Kaoru.”

“And don’t stress, it’s bad for your heart.”

Syo groaned, “ _Thanks_ , Kaoru.”

Syo, bounding with the nervous energy these past weeks of anticipation had built within him, skipped over a clarinettist’s handbag, dodged the bulk of an unpacked double bass, and rushed for his designated door. Kaoru followed at a more relaxed pace, laughing quietly over his brother’s behaviour and directing a brief apology to the bassist. He cleared out a space in the floor outside the studio Syo had claimed and settled down against the back wall.

The minutes passed slowly amongst the nervous bustle. Anticipating a wait, Kaoru had brought his science textbook, intending to read ahead for his next class, but the movement of people, feet and legs caught his peripheral vision and proved distracting. Nevertheless, Kaoru had made some headway into the structure of the cardiovascular system before he was startled by an immediate presence at his right shoulder.

Another boy, probably not much older than Syo and Kaoru and just as blond, was tugging at the locked door knob of studio B7. A large violin case was strapped to his back, making his back arch like Atlas as he gave up on the knob and went to pound loudly on the doorframe with one of his gloved hands.

“Hey wait!” Kaoru cried, stumbling to his feet. “My brother’s in there!”

The boys hand jerked back to his chest. His cheeks flushed as he noted Kaoru, articulating the light freckles that sat beneath his cheeks. “Ah, sorry!” he exclaimed. “I thought it was free when I came past before. I must have been mistaken.”

“Sorry,” Kaoru said with austerity he instantly regretted.

The other boy shook his head, apparently not bothered by the sharp response, “It’s okay! I’ll go somewhere else.”

Kaoru watched as he adjusted the strap around his chest and tried the rest of the studios. They were all occupied. The boy looked around again, catching Kaoru’s gaze with an answering sheepish smile, then turned and left out the corridor, violin case smacking against his thighs.

Kaoru settled back down with his book, listening to Syo’s precise playing which crept out of the soundproof walls and murmured faintly in his ears. After ten minutes the music cut off, and Syo swung out the door, noticed his brother at once and sidestepped to prevent tripping over him.

“You done?” Kaoru asked, looking up to meet Syo’s identical blue irises.

“Yeah, everything’s good.” Syo bit his lip, “The audition room is back near the entrance so I should get going.”

Kaoru smiled. His brother was like a wild fire, leaping from success to success with a furious, hungry drive. Those watching could only admire the light and warmth he created for no appeal to logic, medicine or emotion could control him. But even a fire falters at times, and, as reluctant as Syo was to admit it, this audition meant a lot to him.

“You’ll do great!” Kaoru assured.

Syo released his lower lip in favour of a large grin, “Of course I will! Don’t worry, your big brother is going to leave them breathless.”

Stripped down to a black button-up shirt with the collar smoothed flat to accommodate the violin that was presently tucked under his arm, Syo should have seemed more like a boy dressing up in his father’s clothes than a virtuoso soloist. Instead, he cut a startlingly suave figure as he moved through the crowd heading towards the hallway and from there towards the audition rooms. The bands on his fingers, uncovered so as not to disrupt his playing, flashed faint rainbows as he moved. The yellow, wrapped around his left middle finger, was particularly strong, smoothing the blue into green and the red into purple.

Kaoru could only blame fraternal familiarity for not noticing it then.

 

* * *

 

“Sorry to bother you, but do you know where the audition rooms are?”

Kaoru looked up at the addresser. It was the blond boy who had tried to intrude on Syo earlier. He stood violin in hand, plucking nervously at the lower string with his glove-coved pinkie.

“They’re all by the entrance,” he said. “Didn’t you see them on the way in?”

“Ah no,” the violinist rubbed the back of his neck. “I arrived before they put the signs up. My teacher wanted to go through my pieces before the audition, so I got here at six.”

Kaoru checked his watch. It was now going on one o’clock. “That’s quite impressive. I hope you do well!”

The fluorescent lighting fixtures in the ceiling did the blond boy no favours, casting his eyes into shadow and leaving a slickly tint on his skin, but it did reflect off his neat teeth as he responded to Kaoru’s smile with an even greater grin of his own. “Thank you!” he exclaimed with surprising earnestness, before heading for the corridor. He stopped after five steps.

“Is everything okay?” Kaoru asked with a frown.

“Uh,” and there he was, rubbing his neck again, “I don’t remember where the entrance is.”

“Have you checked the map?”

The violinist startled, “There’s a map?”

His innocent nervousness was all too much for Kaoru to take, and he sensed the dam behind which he kept all his nurturing instincts crack, in a way it usually only did in Syo’s company. Kaoru broke into laughter.

“Come on,” he said, getting to his feet and slipping the textbook under his arm, “I’ll show you.”

It did not take long for the two boys to fall in step. The hallways were quieter than they had been earlier, and the silence invited conversation.

Not that Kaoru knew what to talk about. “So are you auditioning for violin?” he asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” the other boy nodded with a smile. “What are you playing?” he asked, before his vibrant eyes widened behind the thin lenses of his glasses. “Wait! I’m not keeping you from practicing, am I?”

Kaoru shook his head, amused but touched, “No, it’s fine. I’m not auditioning. I’m here to support my brother.”

“Wow, you must really care for your brother!”

Kaoru smiled, “Yeah, I do.” Neither knew what could follow such a genuine statement, and the conversation stalled to a halt.

“Oh,” after a few minutes accompanied by only the shuffling of shoes on carpet, Kaoru stopped and addressed the blond violinist, “I’m Kaoru Kurusu, by the way.”

The other boy beamed, “Natsuki Shinomiya. It’s nice to meet you, Kaoru!”

“Likewise,” the two continued on in silence, but it was a lot more comfortable.

It wasn’t long before they reached the front foyer. After some deliberating, Natsuki found his correct audition room, tucked away in the hallway just after the main staircase. The entrance was bared with a wire music stand on which an A4 printed sheet, declaring the room in use for music performances and requesting quiet, had been placed. The sheet had not been attached in any measure, and sometime since had flopped over and slid to the floor. Kaoru leaned down and picked it up, flicking at the paper until it straightened in the stand, once more proudly declaring it’s discordant message.

The door opened and a bespectacled head pocked out. The man to whom the head belonged took in Natsuki and Kaoru from over his glasses’ frames. “Is one of you Natsuki Shinomiya?” he asked.

Natsuki straightened, “Yes sir. I am.”

The man nodded. “Well come on in. We’re ready to hear from you now,” he said, before his head disappeared again behind the thick wooden door.

Natsuki rolled his shoulders, than turned to Kaoru with a smile and a bow. “Thanks for helping me! I hope your brother does well.”

It was easy to return that smile. “Thanks. Good luck!”

Natsuki adjusted his grip, tugging nervously at the gloves he was still wearing, then followed into the room.

 

* * *

 

The auditorium was restless.

Kaoru stood up and squeezed against the back of his chair to allow a family of seven, spaning three generations, to slide, stumble and press their way past him towards their seats further along the row. They were only one of many delegations to the Nakahara-Smith Foundation’s Twelfth Annual Musical Prodigy Performance Auditions, sitting attentively on their seat edges as they waited for the announcement of who would actually be allowed to perform and who would be going home to practice.               

The lights dimmed and the susurrus grew, stopping abruptly with the arrival of the spectacled face from earlier, this time attached to a thin body wearing a well cut suit that did little but accent the owner’s lack of height.

When he spoke, however, his voice was deep and confident, “Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family, thank you so much for coming! We here at the Nakahara-Smith Foundation are deeply touched by your enthusiasm and commitment to developing musical understanding in younger generations. Today we have had the honour to witness an amazing array of talents! So without further ado, I would like to invite those who auditioned to come out on stage and receive our heartfelt congratulations!”

From the sides of the theatre, the contestants funnelled to form a long snaking line across the stage. They stood awkwardly in the front lights, blinking at the clapping audience. None of them had been able to pack up after their auditions, and their banded fingers – most uncovered to assist with playing – clutched nervously at music sheets and instruments.

“I now have the honour,” the man continued, “to announce who will be invited to perform at the concert in October. While I would like to invite all of our wonderful applicants, it simply isn’t possible for everyone to perform in one night. Further, we endeavour to present a variety of instruments and styles in this performance, so only so many cello soloists, jazz players, etc. may perform. Please do not take rejection as a statement on your future. And remember, if you don’t make it to the performance this year, there’s always next year! Now without any further ado, let’s begin! Please step forward when I call your name. Starting with woodwinds we have Ryouta Saito with his spectacular flute performance.”

Ryouta was followed by a Setsuko Hashimoto and a Taichi Ito. As the little man announced each chosen musician, the children stepped forward with obvious relief, shook the man’s hand and bowed to the applauding audience.

The announcer shuffled his pages and beamed from under the stage spotlights into the dark hall, “Now onto the string contestants. Yumi Yamauchi has been accepted on double bass.”

Kaoru found himself tapping his feet impatiently. This anticipation was terrible for him, what must it be doing for Syo’s heart!

“As for violin. Well, we’ve had some amazing performances, but we are only taking two violinists this year. Please congratulate Syo Kurusu and Natsuki Shinomiya!”

Kaoru joined in the clapping vigorously, beaming as his brother and the kind boy stepped forward, violins still in hand. Natsuki rubbed his neck awkwardly with his left hand, while Syo swapped his hold on his violin and bow so that he could shake the announcer’s hand with his right. His opposite top two fingers– which, like Natsuki’s, were still uncovered – taped against the wooden scroll, and it was this movement that attracted Kaoru’s attention.

The bright light which flooded from the rafters onto the stage, haloing the contestants like a heavenly orchestra, did a good job of hiding the usually striking glow, but it was still evident that both Syo’s and Natsuki’s left hands were flaring vividly. Yellow light streaked the fingerboard of Syo’s violin, while pink curled through Natsuki’s blond hair.

Kaoru was considering how he was going to break the news to his brother, who was being uncharacteristically unobservant in his nerves, when a gasp from the several rows behind informed him that he wasn’t the only one who had noticed.

“Mummy, mummy, is that-” asked one of the kids from the family who had squashed passed earlier, entirely too loudly. Nonetheless, the murmurs were multiplying within the audience, and even the restless children lined up onstage stretched around each other to try to catch sight of the two virtuosi who were attracting such attention.

The boys in question looked confused. Natsuki had dropped his hand back to his side and was gazing at the audience, his big green eyes wider than usual behind their frames. Syo was glaring at the announcer, who had started to chuckle into the microphone, before shaking his head and glaring at the floor. Then his gaze caught on the hand still clenched tight around his violin, and his jaw dropped. Natuski had followed his counterpart’s movement, and when Syo’s eyes reeled to meet his, the two soulmates simply stared at one another dumbstruck.

“Well, well,” the announcer laughed into the auditorium, “isn’t this unexpected! We’ve never had our contestants find their soulmate on our stage before. Congratulations boys! I do believe we’ll be hearing good things from you in October. Can we have another round of applause for Mr Kurusu and Mr Shinomiya?”

The audience complied with genuine enthusiasm. Already Kaoru could hear two middle-aged mothers in front of him murmuring how romantic the whole situation was. “I wish I’d found you the same way,” one sighed and pecked the other on the cheek. Syo and Natsuki, still seeming rather dazed but not oblivious to the commotion they were causing, stepped back into the line.

 

* * *

 

Three and a half months later, as he walked out of the Tokyo performance hall with the rest of the flashy and prestigious crowd, Kaoru agreed with the announcer’s prediction. Syo and Natsuki had performed stunning solo pieces, but it was their duet – composed by Natsuki and rigorously practiced over the last two months – that had really blown the audience away.


	5. Gran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, Chapter 5! I don't really have an excuse for how long this took, but I would like to thank everyone who left comments and kudos in the previous chapters, particularly those who I haven't been able to respond to. Thank you so much! I'm thrilled that you've been enjoying this work!

Every April the village, threaded between hill and valley, held a flower festival. Unlike those elsewhere in the nation, no international tourists attended, nor did the festival hold any great cultural significance. The furthest visitors were those who toddled up the country roads from nearby farms and cottages, the children running in grass stained shoes and the women adjusting their bags.

There was a point at the bottom of the village where the sloping streets met the grassy plain, and there sat an old train station. On the first day of the festival someone had sat a pot of yellow tulips on the rain-warped stationhouse steps for the wizened stationmaster, who had smiled and watered them from his own mug just as he had done last April, and the April before that, and the April before that. He had held his post for the better part of a century, turning up at the station every morning even as the trains themselves increasingly didn’t. 

Winding up from the old station was a road lined with buildings and fences, themselves awash with the fragile bloom of wisteria. And, at the end of the street with its front window curtained by the purple flowers, was a little cake shop. It was through this store’s door that every visitor to the flower festival would inevitably wonder, and Haruka and her grandmother were no exception.

They sat at a table in a corner by the window, forearms resting upon a dangling cream tablecloth that danced with the lacy shadows of early afternoon sunlight caught in the wind and the outside leaves. A lazy young waitress, wrapped in a dignified white apron that still bore its ironing marks, languidly waltzed her rounds around the room, accompanied by the clinking cutlery and the soft murmur of customer chatter. Eventually, she ambled over to the Nanami women and slid a tea set and two chocolate cakes onto the tablecloth, before leaving with a bored huff.

“Thank you, my dear!” Haruka’s grandmother, ever cheerful, called at the retreating back.

The old woman picked up the provided fork, silver and stained slightly from years of use, and dug into her cake with a smile and a sigh when the chocolate hit her tongue.

“You know,” she laughed, moving for another bite, “I’m probably entirely too old for this. Cake! At my age! With a possible risk of diabetes! Your mother would have a fit! So let’s not tell her, eh?” She winked at Haruka, who scratched at the dark icing of her own cake and nodded distractedly, front teeth worrying at her bottom lip.

The old woman sighed. Staring across the table as the afternoon sun picked out the orange in her darling granddaughter’s hair, all she could see was trouble. There was a time, nine years ago, when Haruka had been five-years-old and in love with animals as every kind-heated five-year-old is. She had begged her grandmother for a kitten that she could play with and cuddle like her toys, argued and pleaded and thrown tantrums until she got tired and resorted to sulking instead. The elder had genuinely wished to give in to her granddaughter’s desire but - despite their rural address - between Haruka’s illness and the elder’s own frailty it was hard to believe that the two could properly care for an animal, let alone such a young one.

One evening, after leaving Haruka alone for a few hours during an excursion into town, she had arrived home to a mess instead of a living room. Cat urine was seeping into the couch, and the piano seat was ripped to shreds. The grandmother found Haruka in her bedroom, playing with her dolls and shrugging off every question with a bitten lip and diverted eyes. It wasn’t until her grandmother found the neighbour’s one-eyed tabby cat hunched up and hissing in the locked laundry cupboard that Haruka admitted to finding the feline on the road outside and bringing him inside so that she could “make him pretty” with tiny hairclips in his fur and lots of cuddles. The cat had been returned to his owners, and Haruka appropriately admonished, with a promise to never lock an animal in a cupboard again, no matter how many times it scratched at her and pissed on the couch.

Why the look in her granddaughter’s eye reminded her of this, the old woman was not sure, but she put down her fork and sighed. “Haruka, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Hmm?” Haruka looked up, “It’s nothing, Gran. I’m fine.”

The old woman chuckled, “Please, my dear, you’ve been slouching around everywhere for the last three days, you haven’t stopped frowning all morning, and I’ve never seen fingernails so bitten. If I don’t intervene now, you’ll chew your own hands off!”

Haruka glanced down at her fingers. Living in such a small community since she was five, most of the locals were familiar with the “girl-with-the-seven-soulbands”, and had long since moved on to other news. Nonetheless, even in the summer heat, Haruka preferred to wear gloves to cover the multi-coloured light that shone from left middle to right ring finger, and to prevent the occasional stares that came with it. As such, the accused nails were hidden, but Haruka seemed to concede her grandmother’s point, and sighed.

She looked up and met the older woman’s eyes. “Gran,” Haruka said, “I’ve been thinking about what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

The old woman smiled kindly, “Darling, no one knows what they’re going to do for the rest of their life at 14.”

Haruka shook her head rigorously, her bob billowing out with the vigour, “I-I’m not stressed about it! I just,” she paused. “I want to attend Saotome Academy.” She huddled down in her seat, fingers playing with the edge of the tablecloth, “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

The old woman paused, slowly scraped a piece of chocolate cake off her fork with her teeth, and regarded her granddaughter.

“Saotome Academy,” she said. “Haruka, I don’t want to say not to follow your dreams, but do you really think that’s wise?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Haruka asked, the fear of her confession morphed into a pouting face and steeled green eyes.

“Darling, please,” wrinkled hands reached out to take smooth ones. Haruka’s fork, still tightly clasped, pressed against her grandmother’s thumb, “Consider your illness. This country air has done you such wonders!”

“Saotome Academy is not in the city, Grandma. The facility was constructed on a private reserve of over-”

“Well, at least you’ve read the pamphlet.” She sighed, “Darling, it’s a big school and a big commitment. It’ll be stressful, and you’ll be surrounded by more people on a permanent basis than you ever have. I just don’t think your health is up to it. Not to mention, it is very difficult to get in. Why are you bringing this up now, anyway? You never mentioned anything about wanting to be an idol before? It’s that HAYATO fella, isn’t it.”

Haruka’s face was as red as her hair as she shook it furiously. “I-it’s not HAYATO!” She spluttered. “And I don’t want to be an idol!” Another deep breath, and she met her grandmother’s gaze, “I want to compose, grandma. You’ve taught me so much. How to read and write, and do maths, and cook, and how to play piano, and which flowers have to be planted in summer so they’ll bloom within the year, and I’m not going to leave you, but I can’t stay here!

“I know that Saotome Academy is competitive! I know that the music industry is hard! But I have to… I mean… I just _really_ want to try.”

Elder gazed into youth, and the old lady smiled. Her left hand rose from its grasp around Haruka’s, and lifted to stroke the girl’s cheek. With the distance of the table between them, the touch was feather-light, but it was the gesture that counted. “It looks like you’ve really thought about this,” the elder said. “I’m still worried, but if this is what you really want, then I certainly won’t be the one to hold you back. Your parents on the other hand, might. They’re the one who will be paying, after all.”

Haruka grinned and flung herself out of her chair, around the table, and her arms around her grandmother’s neck, little attention for cutlery or audience. “Saotome Academy gives scholarships for all those who pass the entrance exams,” she laughed. “Thank you, Gran! Thank you so, so, much!”

The older woman return the embrace warmly, “I love you, Haruka.”

The 14-year-old pulled back, lips dry from a week of nervous biting now split into the most beautiful sight in her grandmother’s world. “I love you too, Gran.”


End file.
